


Revenge

by AngelQueen



Series: Porn Battle Entries [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Het, Incest, Porn, Porn Battle, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her failed attempt to murder Uther in his bed, Morgana’s fury still does not abate. AU post-3.05 <i>The Crystal Cave</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the winter 2012 Porn Battle, from the prompt: _Morgana/Arthur, revelations, rage, siblings_.

After her failed attempt to murder Uther in his bed, Morgana’s fury still does not abate. For days after, she obsesses over it, allows it to fester. She has hated Uther for so long, but this, this _rage_ makes that earlier feeling seem like nothing in comparison.

She wants to hurt him, wants him to _pay_ for what he has done. He has abandoned her, left her to think herself an orphan, deprived her of her rightful inheritance - because Camelot _should_ be hers, there is no doubt about that. She admits now, though, that trying to stab Uther while he slept was a mistake, far to impulsive. To kill him would give her some satisfaction, but his death would be too quick. At best, he would last a few seconds, and only in those few seconds would he know her as the instrument of his demise. No, she wants more than that. She wants him to _suffer_ , to see his world come crashing down just as hers has.

It doesn’t take long to figure out how to hurt him best, how to make him suffer without being able to do anything about it. All Morgana has to do is look to Arthur. Arthur, for whose sake she is denied the right to call herself the daughter of a king instead of a simple lord. Arthur, who is recognized as the legal heir of Camelot. Arthur, who is Uther’s pride and joy, the child of the beloved wife he practically murdered.

She makes her move not two weeks after trying to kill Uther. Morgana doesn’t confide her plan to Morgause, knowing her sister - if she truly _is_ her sister, in light of this newest information about Morgana’s parentage - will object, insisting that it will interfere with the plans and plots they already have in place. Morgana doesn’t care about that, though. Right now, _this_ is more important to her than anything else. 

She walks determinedly through the citadel, keeping to corridors that are sparsely lit and watching carefully for anyone she might come across. It is important that she not be seen. As a result, she has to take a more roundabout route to Arthur’s chambers than she normally would, but eventually she gets there, unseen by the guards and any servants that might still be awake in these late hours.

Arthur is fast asleep when she slips inside. Sprawled out on his back, his duvet cast negligently down around his waist. His bare chest rises and falls rhythmically in time with the deep breathing of sleep. Satisfied, Morgana walks over to the fire. It is still fairly strong, despite not having been stoked since Arthur retired. Quietly, she picks up the poker and nudged the burning wood, strengthening the flames. After returning the poker to its proper place, she opens the small bag she brought with her and is immediately beset by the smell of herbs. Slowly, Morgana takes the herbs and tosses them one by one into the fire, inhaling the smoke as it rises. 

Once she has emptied her bag, she stands up. With a single whispered spell, a small breeze appears and blows much of the smoke over toward Arthur’s bed. The smoke has a pleasant scent, thankfully, so he doesn’t choke as he inhales it. Morgana watches him closely for the next several minutes, becoming increasingly aware of the smoke’s impact on her own body.

Arthur begins to shift in his bed, tossing and turning. His left hand even begins to rub at the skin of his chest, before moving downward, beneath his blankets. His movements are slow, unhurried as he begins stroking himself. 

Morgana shifts, her skin prickling as the fabric of her nightgown rubs against her. She can feel the increasingly uncomfortable heat growing between her thighs. Growing impatient, she shrugs her dark green cloak from her body and then tugs at the stays of her nightgown. Within moments, it too falls free and pools at her feet along with her cloak. 

She doesn’t instantly bury her fingers between her legs, seeking quick relief. Instead, she draws out the moment, letting the tips of her fingers brush along the lips of her sex, teasing. Her skin is on fire, and only grows more so with the action. Her eyes don’t leave Arthur, though.

The movement of his hand beneath his covers has been slowly increasing, which prompts Morgana to finally move closer and stand beside his bed. She reaches out and carefully pulls the duvet and sheets beneath it away, grateful for the warm temperature of the room. There is no chill in the air that might bring Arthur back to full wakefulness.

He is wearing only his sleep pants, and his hand is thrust past the waistband. The bulge inside is obvious and not entirely due to that same hand. 

Morgana’s lips curl into a pleased smirk. Good. It’s time.

She leans in closer, her loose hair falling like a curtain down either side of her face. Using just her fingers, she is able to coax Arthur’s sleep pants down over his hips and thighs. His prick is a deep, flushed red, with a small drop of moisture on the top, just begging to be licked off. Morgana restrains herself, though. There will be plenty of time for that later. Instead, she reaches out and gently touches his hand, stilling his movements.

“Arthur,” she whispers lightly, “Arthur, let me help.”

This is the hardest, most dangerous part of her plan. She needs him awake, but not so awake that he is in full command of himself. If he is fully conscious, there is a great chance he will turn her away, force her to leave. She can’t, won’t have that. 

Thankfully, the herbs have done their work. Arthur’s blue eyes - whose eyes are those, a small voice in the back of her mind wonders; they’re certainly not Uther’s, and Ygraine’s were a deep brown, almost black - open just a little, bleary with sleep and the effect of the aphrodisiacs. Still, he is coherent enough to peer up at her through that. “M’gana?” he murmurs, his voice thick.

“Shh,” she soothes, “yes, it’s me.” She gently pulls his hand away from his swollen prick, smiling when he moans a little at the loss of contact. “Let me help you.”

Her strokes are light, teasing, at first. Just enough to keep his arousal going, but not enough to send him over the edge. It doesn’t take long for Arthur to begin to buck his hips, seeking a firmer touch, or any other kind of relief. “Morgana…” he groans, a note of pleading in his tone.

She smiles, gratified by her skill. She has always had a certain power over men, and the things she has learned during her year away from Camelot are most informative. Catching his eyes, she asks, “Do you want me, Arthur? Do you want to touch me? Possess me?”

He just groans again, his head pressing back against his pillow. Morgana doesn’t give him any relief, persisting in her questions. “Do you want to bed me? To thrust inside of me over and over again?” She leans down close, their noses almost touching. “Do you want to _fuck_ me, Arthur?”

The expression on his face is one of desperation, and there is a look of crazed lust in his eyes. Finally, Arthur hisses out a single word in response. 

“ _Yes!_ ”

 _Thank the gods,_ she thinks as she climbs on top of him. Her own arousal has been growing with his, and Morgana can feel her own juices trickling past her sex and onto her thighs. As she rests on her knees, straddling Arthur’s hips, she doesn’t hesitate and thrusts herself down, taking him inside of her in one, swift stroke.

It’s probably a miracle that no one hears their mutual cries.

Arthur thrusts into her like a man possessed - which he is, in a manner of speaking. His hips carry on a deep, steady rhythm, one which her own body moves to match. 

They’re both so close that they don’t last long. Within moments, Arthur’s hands grip her hips tight enough to leave finger-shaped bruises as he holds her in place while he thrusts up one more time into her. She can feel his release shooting into her body, wave after wave. The sensation is enough to send her careening over the edge after him, the edges of her vision going white.

That isn’t the conclusion of their activities for the night, of course. The herbs do their work well. They have each other twice more after the first time, first with Arthur fucking her from behind like a stallion would mount a mare, and then with her lying on her back amid his fluid-stained sheets. The last time, Morgana makes sure to draw out, makes Arthur work for his release. He buries his face between her legs, licking from her clitoris to her entrance. She makes him taste their mingled juices, and brings her own release at least twice before she allows him to match his hips to her own and thrust into her to find his own relief.

Morgana makes sure to leave before the sun begins to creep over the treetops. She uses a few handy spells that she learned under Morgause’s tuition, ridding the room of the scent of the herbs. The last thing she needs is for Merlin to be suspicious. The wretched boy may be an idiot, but he knows his herbs well - he’d have to, considering how many times he helped Gaius to try and drug away her abilities. She also casts a spell to remove any trace of herself from Arthur’s sheets, but leaves the evidence of his own release. Let him think he only had some very nice dreams.

She doesn’t return the following night, or the night after that. It isn’t safe to use the herbs too much too close together. She waits a week, and then returns to Arthur’s bed again, and again, and again. For nearly three months, Morgana repeats her nocturnal visits, and uses fewer and fewer of the herbs each time, until at last, she uses none at all, and simply comes into Arthur’s chambers to find him awake and waiting for her.

It takes a few more months, but finally her plan comes to a head. She learns of it fairly quickly, but must wait until the evidence becomes a little more obvious on her body. It’s Arthur who notices first, ironically enough, even before Gwen does or works up the courage to ask about it. She admits to him that it’s true, puts an act of being a frightened girl in over her head, and lets him come to the very conclusion that she desires.

The next morning, they stand hand in hand before Uther. He stares at them from behind the desk of his study, curious and perhaps remembering the last time they had come to him in such a manner, when they were children both wanting their own horses instead of ponies. When Arthur admits what they have done, admits that he is responsible for the child growing in Morgana’s womb, and requests permission to marry her, Uther’s face goes completely ashen.

It is all Morgana can do to keep from smiling. At last, her rage has begun to be sated.


End file.
